


Weird, good weird.

by 221bCupOfTeaAndSherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Embarrassed Sherlock Holmes, First Kiss, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Tea, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 02:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14203179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221bCupOfTeaAndSherlock/pseuds/221bCupOfTeaAndSherlock
Summary: Sherlock experiences some rather desperate and rather awkward withdrawal symptoms and John is there to help.





	Weird, good weird.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi :) this is my first fic and it's not perfect but I had fun writing it and wanted to post it up on here, let me know what you think if you have time. I've used a certain amount of artistic license with the way in which Sherlock experiences withdrawal to give a bit of context but hopefully its okay. Hope you enjoy!

It had been three days before they’d manage to track him down, roping in Mycroft when Lestrade and John finally accepted they were getting no-where. Mycroft had sent a car with John in to collect him but Sherlock had refused and stalked off to the nearest café instead. John, glad at least that Sherlock was sobering up enough to eat, dismissed the car and followed him. He ordered them both some chips and watched as Sherlock chugged down a mug of tea before lifting his cup and giving the waitress a pointed look. She brought him back a fresh mug with the plates of chips. After the plates were cleared and Sherlock had drained his third mug of tea, Sherlock stood and spoke for the first time.

“Ready John?”

John dropped some change onto the table and stood, following Sherlock towards the main road to find a cab. They were about ten minutes into the nearly forty-five minute drive across London back to Baker Street when Sherlock groaned.

“You okay? Not going to be sick are you?” John asked, concerned.

“No” Sherlock groaned.

“What then?”

“Bladder” Sherlock mumbled under his breath.

"Oh. …Oh.” John took a moment to realise, “Should have made you use the loo before we left.”

“I’m not a child John!” Sherlock barked at him, shifting uncomfortably.

John just turned to look out of the window. There was no point trying to interact with him in this state at the best of times and his need to urinate wasn’t going to make him any more amenable.

* * *

John was getting rather worried. They were only a few minutes from Baker Street but the consulting detective at his side was white as a sheet with a sheen of sweat covering his brow. He was also bouncing his legs haphazardly in an effort to stop the contents of his bladder from settling and creating any more downward pressure. He’d been shifting every few minutes for the whole cab ride, his visible signs of desperation becoming more and more apparent. John had been expecting Sherlock to get the cab to pull over so he could find somewhere to go but clearly, he was in a stubborn mood today and had decided to wait. John had a feeling that wasn’t a particularly good idea.

John had the money ready as they turned onto Baker Street and they exited the car quickly. John began searching for his key in his pocket.

“Hurry… please!” Sherlock groaned beside him.

John pushed the door and expected Sherlock to rush past but instead Sherlock moved slowly, panic spreading across his features when he had to stop on the third step and concentrate on holding back the flood of piss that was threatening to release at every forward movement. Sherlock finally made his way up the stairs of 221B to John’s gentle coaxing,

“Come on, nearly there.”

He felt Sherlock trembling beneath his hands as he applied gentle pressure to the small of his back urging him forward to the bathroom door. Sherlock edged forward, doubled over with pain and pressure as his bladder threatened to release. John, realising that Sherlock could do little more than squeeze himself tightly, managed to manoeuvre Sherlock to stand in front of the toilet. Sherlock’s breathing was short and frantic.

“John…” Sherlock croaked, “I can’t…”

His fingers trembled as he tried desperately to undo the button of his trousers. John let out a little sigh but brought his hands to Sherlock’s waist and started to tug it open gently. Sherlock’s breath hitched in panic and then he groaned gently as piss spilled from him, creating a rapidly increasing wet spot in his shiny black suit trousers. It was running down Sherlock’s leg in long glistening streaks before John realised he was frozen with his hands still on Sherlock’s waistband. He dropped his hands with a blush and glanced up to Sherlock’s face to see his eyes tight shut and a look of exhaustion etched across it. The gentle splash of piss on the tiled bathroom floor seemed to slow as Sherlock slumped against the wall, looking close to fainting. John gently placed his fingers under Sherlock’s chin to lift his head, speaking softly.

“Sherlock… Sherlock look at me so I know you’re okay.”

He opened his eyes slowly and his cheeks blushed red and he groaned in frustration. He tried to stand but exhaustion had robbed his legs of any strength and John only just managed to prop him up as his knees went from beneath him.

“Think you can hop in the shower for me?” John asked, voice soft, as if he were talking to a child at the surgery. Sherlock mumbled a yes in a defeated voice, growing ever more aware of the awkwardness of this current situation. He walked slowly to the bath and kicked off his shoes before climbing into the bath, his shiny wet trousers clinging to his legs, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders and letting it drop onto the side of the bath. His movements were so slow that John couldn’t stop himself from moving to the bath and unbuttoning his crisp white shirt. He let Sherlock shrug it off and throw it with his jacket as he turned to start the shower and adjust the temperature then pulled the plastic curtain part way across to give Sherlock some privacy as he stripped off his wet trousers, allowing the piss to rinse partly away with the spray of the shower. John waited until he heard the remaining, sopping wet clothes fall to the floor before he gathered everything up and carried them through to the kitchen to stick them in the wash. He glanced to the mop propped up in the corner beside the fridge but thought it best to leave Sherlock to shower in peace and decided to make a cup of tea for them both.

* * *

John heard Sherlock turn off the shower as the kettle made a satisfying click and riffled through the cupboard for tea bags as he heard Sherlock padding softly into his room and the door shut gently behind him. He placed a tea bag in the only clean mugs he could find, added the boiling water and sniffed the milk that had been sitting on the side board all day. Satisfied that it hadn’t gone off he finished the teas, adding sugar to Sherlock’s. He wandered into the sitting room and settled into his arm chair, setting the mugs on the coffee table and kicking off his shoes.

Sherlock moved quietly down the hall and into the sitting room, wearing pajamas and a dressing gown. He slumped down into his chair and leaned back, eyes shut. John considered saying something but thought better of it. Sherlock sat himself up and leaned over to pick up his mug with both hands. He brought it to his lips and took a long sip. He sat unmoving for so long that John was starting to get unnerved.

“I… erm, I’m sorry, John. That was…” Sherlock couldn’t meet his gaze as he spoke, and the blush in his cheeks was back.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, I am a Doctor” John finished, his face softening into a smile at the detective’s pink cheeks. He looked so vulnerable; legs folded beneath him, shoulders slumped and eyes staring resolutely at a spot on the carpet.

“Yes, well, …thanks.” The embarrassment in his mumbled speech so unusual that John ducked his head to conceal his grin. He had a sudden urge to beckon the lanky detective to sit on his lap and console him before he mentally shook himself, a blush creeping onto his own face. It was at this moment that Sherlock stole a glance at John’s face. John’s breath caught in his throat, expecting a sarcastic comment but Sherlock looked more embarrassed than John thought possible. He placed the mug he’d been cradling onto the table and walked towards his bedroom but John caught his wrist as he passed causing him to flinch.

“It’s all fine. Happens to us all.” John gave Sherlock an earnest look, unable to stop his eyes dropping to the man’s lips… what was happening to him. His blush crept back. Sherlock made a barely audible sound, his mind sifting through images of John wetting himself and noting with equal embarrassment a rush of blood decidedly more south of his brain than he would like.

“I think I’ll try and get some sleep. Thanks…” He nodded to the mug of tea, sitting half-drunk on the table but hoping that John would understand that it was also extended to his earlier assistance. John gave a warm smile in response and released his wrist, bringing his own mug to his lips and draining the dregs of tea.

“Night John” Sherlock said softly, before shutting his bedroom door.

“Night Sherlock” John sighed.

* * *

John blinked his eyes open and stretched himself out, noting that he’d fallen asleep in the chair. He cast his bleary eyes down to his phone.

02:26 AM

He groaned as he pulled himself up from the chair, registering the slightly uncomfortable weight in his bladder and heading to the bathroom. The cold of the tile permeated his socks as he padded across the bathroom and stood in front of the loo. It took him a second to register that, in addition to the cold, his socks were also rather wet.

“Shit!” He mumbled as he recalled the events of the previous evening and his decision to put off cleaning up until Sherlock had showered. He sighed and proceeded to empty his bladder into the toilet before pulling off his wet socks and drying his feet. He crossed to the door to collect the mop from the kitchen, swung open the bathroom door and walked into something hard. He jumped back defensively as his eyes registered Sherlock, wearing nothing but cotton boxers and holding a large bundle of sheets and pajamas in front of him. John couldn’t see but Sherlock’s face was completely scarlet and radiating heat as his half-awake mind searched frantically for a suitable lie for his current situation. John, also half asleep took a few minutes to realise why exactly his flatmate was carrying a pile of bedding out of his bedroom at two in the morning.

Sherlock noted that his eyes were starting to water as he watched realisation dawn on John’s face and turned quickly to walk into the kitchen and dropping the bedding onto the floor. His shoulders dropping in defeat as the tell-tale sound of wet fabric hitting lino rang out into the quiet kitchen. A tear spilled onto his cheek and he shook with frustration at his own childishness. He jumped as a warm hand made contact with the cold white skin of his arm, pulling him into a hug. He froze, completely unsure of what to do, before his arms settled around John’s waist and he buried his head into John’s jumper. Neither of them spoke, frozen in an embrace in the dimly lit kitchen. Eventually, John gently pushed on Sherlock’s shoulders so he could see his face.

“Go and get in the shower, I can sort these.” He tilted his head to the wet sheets on the floor.

“No! John I ca- ,“ Sherlock protested.

“Sherlock.” John gave him a pointed look that had the detective dropping his shoulders in defeat and shuffling into the bathroom. He dropped down to stuff the washing into the machine, adding powder and starting the wash cycle. He then gathered the mop and bucket and headed into the bathroom to clean up. He listened to the sound of the shower, splashing over Sherlock’s body and noticed a growing heat in his lower abdomen as he tried to pull his mind back to the task in hand. He leaves the bathroom quietly and moves into Sherlock’s room, opening the drawer at the bottom of his mahogany wardrobe and pulling out a fresh set of bedding. He made quick work of the sheets and once the pillows were back in place he couldn’t resist dropping onto the bed and shutting his eyes.

He opened his eyes a few moments later, sensing Sherlock hovering in the doorway, unsure of what to do. John, making no move to get up, patted the bed beside him. Sherlock took a few seconds to register the situation before he moved softly into the room, pushing the door closed and laying down next to John on his freshly made bed. He stared at the ceiling, tears running silently from the corners of his eyes and down the sides of his face. He felt his chest burn, enraged at himself for acting like some dependent infant in front of John. John gently turned his head to look at his best friends face and sighed gently as he saw the tears dripping gently into the mass of dark curls.

“It’s just the drugs working their way through your system, nothing to feel ashamed about, just try and relax.” John’s voice is soft, aware of the vulnerability radiating from Sherlock as he pressed his eyes shut and shivered lightly in the cold air. John tugged the covers from under Sherlock’s body.

“Come on, get yourself warm and sleep it off, everything is absolutely fine.” He slipped under the sheets beside Sherlock without thinking and covered them both, slipping an arm around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. He waited, expecting Sherlock to move or at least cast him a very quizzical look, but instead he just sighed against John’s warm embrace and brought up a hand to rest beside John’s on his chest, fingers slightly overlapping. John sucked in a breath.

_Here he is_ , he thought, _laid beside a half-naked Sherlock with an arm around him and yet it’s the brush of fingers that sends a burning heat throughout his body_. It seemed such an intimate touch and he groaned internally as his cock began to grow hard. He moved his hips, trying to move his noticeable erection away from his flat mate’s body but Sherlock moved too and John find himself pressed against Sherlock’s back. He froze, waiting again for Sherlock to jump away, but when he didn't John let himself relax ever so slightly into the mattress and against Sherlock’s body.

Sherlock had been searching frantically for a reason for John to stay, desperate not to be left alone when feeling so vulnerable when he felt the comfortable weight of John’s arm settle onto his chest. He felt the tension leave his body immediately and brought a hand to rest beside John’s. Floods of warmth spread over him and for a horrifying second, he thought that his bladder had released itself of its own accord once again, before he registered that the heat in his groin was from something rather different. His erection tented his cotton boxers and Sherlock was suddenly very glad that he had his back to John. He felt the doctor twist slightly behind him and moved instinctively to keep his body close. His eyes shot open as the rather unfamiliar sensation of a rather hard part of John’s anatomy pressing into his back registered in his mind and he kept as still as he could willing John to stay where he was. He finally felt John relax against him and stretched his fingers so that his hand was clasped over John’s.

Neither moved, due in part to exhaustion but partly because both were concerned that any movement might spook the other into leaving the bed. It took barely five minutes for both men to drift off into a relatively peaceful sleep.

* * *

Sherlock woke feeling rather hot, which was unusual for a night in early spring. He then noted the heat was emanating from John, who lay on his stomach beside the consulting detective, his face relaxed in sleep and leg pressed against Sherlock’s own. Sherlock extricated himself slowly from the bed, and slipped on a dressing gown, exiting the room silently. He filled the kettle, popped bread into the toaster and began to pull last night’s laundry from the machine to dry. He prepared the tea and toast, placing it on a tray, and carried it back to his room. John had awoken a few moments before and was currently sitting himself up and rubbing his eyes.

“Breakfast” Sherlock stated, placing the tray beside John and dropping himself down to lean against the foot of the bed.

“Ah, thanks” John replied, looking a little sheepish, which Sherlock took to mean he felt rather guilty about waking in Sherlock’s bed and the rather compromising position in which they fell asleep. John’s face flushed in confirmation.

“Thank you for staying” Sherlock said, voice calm after a good sleep.

“Not a problem” John said quietly, eyes dropping to the toast he was eating, trying to decide whether to pass it off as medical concern or not say anything at all in the hope that Sherlock wouldn’t think too much into it. John wasn’t so lucky.

“Don’t worry about your erection, I was in a similar state myself.” Sherlock’s voice didn’t betray the anxiety that was festering in the pit of his stomach. He knew it was a risk, it could push John away, but he also didn’t feel like being coy and wanted to tell John in some way just how much he enjoyed his presence.

“I- I ..,erm…” John’s face flashed from shock to fear to embarrassment and then to a slightly nervous grin under Sherlock’s gaze.

“I’m also sorry again for my… accidents. You really didn’t need to help me clean up but I am none the less grateful for your assistance.” It was Sherlock’s turn to look embarrassed, speaking quickly, realising he probably should acknowledge what had gotten them into this current scenario. John chuckled. Sherlock narrowed his eyes defensively.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… last night was weird. Good weird.” John added with a smile. Sherlock saw his chance and practically lunged at John, knocking the full mug of tea onto the bed sheets, as he found John’s lips with his own and sighed with relief as John began to reciprocate. Hands roamed as the kiss deepened until they came up for air. They kept eye contact, breathing heavily and grinning.

“Oh Sherlock, you’ve wet the bed again!” John glanced down at the bed. Sherlock, puzzled, followed John’s gaze to the large puddle of tea soaking into the sheets. They looked back at each other and broke into a fit of giggles, John tugging Sherlock down on top of him and kissing him once more.


End file.
